The Chosen

Available Titles from Frontier 2000 Media

Non Fiction:

No Regrets: How Homeschooling
Earned
me a Master’s Degree at Age Sixteen

Writing for Today

Looking Backward: My Twenty-Five Years as a Homeschooling Mother

Adult Fiction:

The Fourth Kingdom

The Twelfth Juror

The Warrior

The Planner

The Chosen
(sequel to The Planner)

Children’s Fiction:

   Tales of Pig Isle
             

   The McAloons: A Horse Called Lightning &
 
A House of Clowns

The
Chosen

Alexandra Swann

&

Joyce Swann

Many are called; few are chosen.

Matthew 22:14

Chapter
1

J
essie leaned to the left to get a better view
from the window of the single engine plane that he was flying over a vast stretch of Nevada desert. He had been flying pre
-d
awn missions every morning for the past two weeks, but everything was quiet in the large fenced compound beneath him.

Jessie took a handful of Cheetos from the open bag
o
n the seat beside him and stuffed them into his mouth. As he chewed loudly, he wiped his ha
n
d across his chest, leaving a salty orange track on his County Crows tee shirt. It was 4:30 A.M., and Jessie was sleepy. He shook his head to ward off the d
r
owsiness and took a long swig from his can of Red Bull.

Even though he was wearing night
-
vision goggles, he saw nothing of interest as he flew as low as he dared and scanned the landscape for anything out of the ordinary. It was hot, and the sweat ran down his fat neck in rivulets. Jessie had wound his long curly red hair into a little bun that he had fastened on the back of his head with a large clip, but he was still uncomfortable.

Just as he
had d
ecided to turn the plane around and head home, he caught sight of movement near the chain link that surrounded the compound. Immediately, he was wide awake.
Yes! There was definite movement near the fence! As Jessie watched
,
someone crawled under the chain link and half stood. As soon as he was on his feet the man began running, although he remained crouched over as much as
possible
.

Jessie’s heart was pounding. With the aid of his goggles, he was able to determine that there was a road about a quarter
of a
mile ahead of the runner. Jessie turned the plane and headed toward the road. He would have to risk landing there and hope that he could get the runner on board before someone in the compound learned that he was missing.

Jessie did not have long to wait. He had bar
el
y managed to land when he saw that the
man
had no
w
straightened and was running hard directly toward him. Jessie called out, “Over here!”

The runner stopped dead in his tracks, panic
register
ing on his face. “Who are you?” he panted.

“I’m your guardian angel,
man,
” Jessie replied.
“
Get in
before we
both get killed!
”
 

The runner paused only a moment before scrambling into the passenger seat of the small plane.

Seconds after the plane was airborne a convoy of six black SUVs drove through the gates of the compound. As Jessie and his passenger watched, teams carrying automatic weapons leapt from the vehicles and began entering the barracks. Seconds after that, the sounds of machine-gun fire filled the air. People were screaming
,
and some were running from the barracks
,
only to be pursued and shot.

“Oh, my God!” whispered Jessie’s passenger as he ran his long fingers through his sandy brown hair.
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

When the plane had moved out of range of the sights and sounds that had elicited the response, the passenger turned to Jessie and asked, “Who are you, and how did you know I was going to escape?”

“I’m Jessie,” he responded, giving his passenger a high five with his chubby hand. “I didn’t know. I’ve been flying missions over the compound for a couple of weeks now. I knew something was coming down, but I didn’t expect anyone to come out from under that fence. You surprised me, man! But what I want to know is who are you, and what’s going on in there?”

“My name is Ron Edmonton; I’m a medical doctor.
When the outbreaks
occurred
in the Gulf Coast
states
, I spent two months there treating the toxin victims. I didn’t exactly volunteer. I was contacted by the office of the Surgeon General and told to report to Huntsville, Alabama within three days. When I told them that I couldn
’
t leave my pain-management practice, they let me know that my cooperation was not optional. My partner
in my medical practice
looked pleased as punch when I gave him the news—I think that he already knew what was coming down.

“Anyway, I did everything that I could to treat the victims, but toxicology isn’t my field, so I pretty much had to rely on what the military doctors told me was the proper course of treatment. I knew from day one that something was wrong because I found out right away that all of the other doctors they had forced to come to the Gulf Coast were in fields unrelated to dealing with toxin victims.
Nothing made
any sense. All of us worked long hours to save lives, but no matter what we did, the patients died.

“At the end of two months, a military doctor informed me that I would be returning home the following day. I signed a confidentially agreement that outlined a number of severe penalties for divulging any information concerning anything that had taken place during my time there, including the number of patients I had treated, the drugs that were prescribed, the mortality rate, and just about everything else that you can think of.

“I was so glad to get out of there, but when I got home, my wife told me that we had received a notice that our house was being taken through eminent domain.
I was furious; I really exploded, and I swore that after all they had put me through, the government was not going to steal my house!  I called an attorney the next day and made an appointment for the following week.

“Two days later a team of federal agents arrived at my office and told me that I was to come with them. They drove me to the FBI building where they handcuffed me and transported me to the compound where I
’
ve been ever since.”

“Oh, man!” Jessie exclaimed, “I’ve got chills!” He demonstrated by extending a fat white arm covered in red curly hair. Sure enough, Ron Edmonton noted that the flesh was covered in goose bumps.

“How did you know that tonight was the night?” Jessie asked.

“I couldn’t be sure, but I
spent twenty years as a Marine—that’s how I got my medical training. W
hen I ended up here, I began viewing myself as a POW
because I
knew that regardless of the bunk they were telling us about needing to quarantine us to make sure that we were healthy after being in
the Gulf, they were really planning to
exterminate
us.
We had become collateral damage.
I was pretty sure that they wouldn’t make their move until the compound was at capacity because
they would want the
slaughter
to be as efficient as possible. So I began watching carefully to see how many bunks were still empty. I
volunteered to work in the laundry so that I would be able to go into all of the
barracks
to pick
up the soiled bedding; that way I was able to
keep track of the empty bunks.

“
Yesterday
they brought in three additional doctors who had been in the Gulf; that left only one empty bunk. I weighed my options. If I escaped too early, they would miss
me
when everyone fell out for
morning
roll call, and they would send out a search team. In this desert
,
with no transportation
,
I would be captured within hours. If I waited
until the assassination teams arrived, I would have no chance of escaping.

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Finally, about midnight I decided that I would go under the fence at 4:30. The
F
eds always
use pre-dawn raids to catch their targets off guard, but I knew th
e guards
would also have their defenses down at that hour of the morning. I thought that if this were the morning that they were going to
send in the
attack
teams
, I would get out just before the
teams
came in the gates. They would not bother to identify the bodies because we had all been present for evening roll call. I would be officially dead, and
,
with luck
,
I would be able to find my way to civilization and contact my wife. It seemed to be my best shot.”

“You are one cool dude!” Jessie said with admiration. “I’m a freedom fighter myself.”

Ron looked at Jessie and nodded, but he did not comment. Jessie noted his skepticism and added, “I wasn’t a Marine or a Navy Seal or anything like that. These are my
weapons,” and he held his stubby fingers over his head and wiggled them profusely.

“Well,
thank you for saving my life,” Ron said seriously. “When I saw you on that road, you looked better to me than a whole battery of Marines. By the way, where are we?”

“We’re about fifty miles from my base camp,” Jessie replied.

“No, I mean, literally, where are we? I was transported from Phoenix in the back of a military
supply
truck
—no
windows, no way to keep track of time, no way to tell which direction we were headed
. Six other doctors were transported with me, but they took our watches, and it was as black as night inside the truck.”

“Dude, you
’
re in Nevada—Disneyland for adults
—unless
, of course, you happen to be in one of the Feds’ death camps.
“

As Jessie spoke they were flying over a desolate stretch of sand and sagebrush. “Whoa!” he said. “Welcome to California. We just crossed the state line.”

Fifteen minutes later Jessie announced, “We are now approaching Base Camp One.”

Ron looked out his window to see a large dilapidated cow barn, a few empty corrals, and a rusty single-wide trailer
barely visible in the early morning light
. The place looked as if it had been deserted for years. As Jessie prepared to land on the narrow dirt road that led to the trailer, Ron fought back the notion that he had somehow managed to allow himself to fall into the hands of a crazed cult leader who had brought him to that deserted spot so that he and his followers could murder him in some sort of perverse ceremony. Instantly, he was on guard.

As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, Ron leapt out and stood with his back against the craft. He surveyed the area looking for any signs of movement. Just as he began to relax, however, the trailer door flew open and a fat, freckled, middle-aged woman wearing tight knit shorts and a tank top emerged.

“Hey, Jessie,” she called. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Can’t tell ya, or I’d have to kill ya,” Jessie responded.

At this both Jessie and the woman laughed uproariously.

“This is my sister Shirleen,” Jessie said.
“
She lives here with my nephew. Where’s Kyle?”

“He’s
asleep
,
like normal people,
” Shirleen responded. “What do you need Kyle
for
?”

“I need him to help me get T-
squared into the hanger.
”

“I’ll help,” Ron offered.

The two men pushed the plane into the cow barn and covered it with a tarp to protect it from the pigeons that roosted in the rafters. As soon as the tarp was in place, Jessie produced an ancient motorcycle that had been standing behind some moldy bales of hay and pushed it out of the barn. He then straddled it and motioned for Ron to get on behind him. The motorcycle rumbled to a start, and the two men began
the dusty ride to Base Camp Two.